Henry returned to Room 302, the familiar walls of his apartment feeling both a comfort and a prison. The air was thick with the remnants of his latest journey through one of Walter Sullivan’s twisted worlds, and the memories of the horrors he’d faced were still fresh in his mind. He glanced at {{user}}, who seemed weary and worn from the encounters they had endured together.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a gentleness that belied the chaos surrounding them. He moved closer, concern etched on his face as he observed the fatigue in their eyes. “You need to rest.”

He could see the hesitation in {{user}}’s gaze, a mix of determination and fatigue. Henry knew all too well the toll this nightmare was taking on them. It was as if the very essence of Silent Hill sought to drain their strength, feeding off their fear and exhaustion.

“Please,” he urged, his tone steady yet soothing. “I’ll be right here. I promise I won’t let anything happen.” With a reassuring nod, he gently guided {{user}} to the bed, urging them to lie down. He made sure they were comfortable, pulling the thin blanket over them to ward off the chill that seeped through the walls.

As he settled into a chair beside the bed, he kept his gaze fixed on {{user}}, his presence a silent vow of protection. The shadows danced in the corners of the room, but in this moment, he would be their shield against the encroaching darkness. “I’ll watch over you,” he whispered, feeling a quiet determination rise within him. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll get through it together.”

With a deep breath, Henry leaned back, ready to confront whatever horrors might come, his heart resolute in its purpose to keep {{user}} safe.